


Breathing Room

by bees_stories



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Holiday, M/M, Massage, Outdoor Sex, Tattoos, Vacation, post-series 2 au, relationship, work related stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories dealing with Jack, a near crippling sense of self doubt, and what Ianto does when he realises what's going through Jack's head.<br/>A New Team Torchwood era story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathing Room

***

"And don't call me back until you've got a decent answer for me!"

Jack slammed down the telephone receiver hard enough that papers scattered off his desk and went cascading onto the floor. He made no effort to stop their progress, and scowled as he watched them fall. 

He wasn't the only one. Ianto and Gwen, both on their way up the catwalk – Ianto with coffee and the morning post, and Gwen with a series of potential case files for review – stopped dead in their tracks and exchanged worried glances. 

"That doesn't sound good." 

Gwen gestured at Ianto to precede her into the lion's den. 

Ianto raised an eyebrow at her in return. "Cannon fodder now, am I?" 

Gwen flushed. Her smile as she ducked her head suggested she was embarrassed at being caught out. She glanced down at the toes of her shoes (new sensible black leather flats, dressy but comfortable for running.) and up again. This time her smile was disarming. "You don't want his coffee to get cold, now do you?" 

Ianto moved closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial level. "He's not getting much sleep lately." He shot her a pointed look. "And not for the reason you're about to suggest. I'm worried about him, Gwen. I'm thinking its time he took a holiday." 

"You just went to Scotland," she pointed out. 

Ianto adjusted his grip on the silver tray in his hands. He was still getting used to walking unassisted without his cane, and found himself unsteady at the strangest times. "That was over three months ago, during which he spent his time closing Torchwood Two and chasing down Archie. Closely followed by solving the murder of one of my former colleagues from Torchwood One. And assisting with the confiscation of some extremely dangerous alien technology." He paused and glanced downward at his left leg before returning his attention to Gwen. "And when he wasn't doing all of that, he was nursing me. It was hardly a holiday." 

Jack was on his feet and moving towards them. Gwen set her paperwork on Ianto's tray and then retreated swiftly down the catwalk.

Ianto squared his shoulders before he advanced. "Sorry. Small matter of a clerical nature that needed sorting." He did a half pirouette around Jack, who was blocking his path, and went into the office. 

Jack followed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he still appeared to be in a state of barely suppressed ire. 

Ianto set out the coffee and paperwork whilst unobtrusively studying the lines of Jack's face. Under his aggressive façade he looked tired. And worse, he looked bleak. In former days when moods like this took him, he'd head for the nearest rooftop to brood, or look for a weevil with which to tangle. Now he stared back and curled his lip in a not-quite sneer. He was spoiling for a fight and hoping Ianto would give him a reason to shout. 

There had been a time when he would accept the role of whipping boy, taking punishment so that the of the team could escape Jack's moods, but that was then. "I'm not the Minster of Defence, Jack, so don't even think of pretending I am." He closed the office door, leaned against the desk, and looked pointedly at the chair. "Have a seat, drink your coffee, and once you've calmed down, tell me what she's done to upset you." 

Jack pursed his lips and pouted. If he had been a lad of five, it would have been adorable. Ianto had to admit to himself a pouting Jack was _still adorable_ , but that was hardly the image he needed to project around the office.

"Actually, I have a better idea." He lifted Jack's greatcoat off the coat rack and flared it open. "We're going out." 

"Where?" Jack asked suspiciously. 

Ianto met Jack's stormy blue eyes with a placid expression and waited patiently until Jack thrust his arms into the sleeves of the greatcoat and let him smooth the wool into place over his shoulders. 

"Book us off for the rest of the week," Ianto said to Gwen as he led Jack from the Hub. 

She eyed them from beneath the veil of her lashes quizzically for a moment and then nodded slowly. "And if I need to get a hold of you?" 

"Don't bother," Ianto replied. He very deliberately took his ear piece off and dropped it into her palm.

***

"Ianto, your alpha male routine is sexy as hell, don't get me wrong," Jack said after they'd got on the motorway. "But don't you think it's time you told me where we're going?"

"No." Ianto flipped on the radio, tuned it to a jazz station that favoured standards over anything experimental, and once he'd accelerated past a slower moving lorry, glanced over at Jack. "We're off duty and I'm in charge. Everything is well in hand, so just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride." 

"You're kidnapping me?" Jack's expression was faintly incredulous. 

Ianto shrugged. "I suppose I am." 

"Turn the car around." 

Ianto ignored the order as he changed lanes again and headed for the mountains. 

"Ianto," Jack put his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm talking to you."

Ianto batted his hand away. "I heard you, Jack," he replied. His tone was just as calm as Jack's was angry. "Just like everyone on the main level of the Hub heard you yelling earlier. That's all you do lately is shout. For the good of the team, and us, I'm taking you somewhere you can get it out of your system." 

"What do you mean?" 

Ianto's patience cracked just a little. "I would have thought that would be obvious by now. Something is bothering you, Jack. You're not sleeping well. You barely eat. Nothing anyone does is good enough. Yesterday, it took me two hours to talk Mark down after you ripped apart his proposal on the time lock project. How was he to know that was the last thing Toshiko had been working on before she died? It's affecting morale at work, and it's not doing us any good either." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling his temper back under control. "Yes, Jack, for everyone's sake, especially yours, I'm kidnapping you." He took one hand off the wheel and put it on Jack's thigh. "So please, just sit back and relax."

Jack ran his free hand through his hair and watched the scenery become increasingly rural. "I've been that bad?"

Ianto didn't reply. He'd set the wheels of Jack's mind spinning and he knew his conscience would do the rest.

***

The cabin wasn't really that far from Cardiff, only about two hours as a crow, or a well tuned Audi, flew. Ianto had bought the place and kitted it out with the intention of surprising Jack for a made up anniversary. Necessity had brought his plans forward, and he was glad he'd worked ahead.

"It's a straightforward layout," Ianto said as he helped Jack out of his greatcoat. "Living area and kitchen below, and bedroom and bath up the stairs. There's a balcony off the bedroom with a view of meadow and the woods. Bring the shopping in and I'll go turn on the mains." 

Ianto waited long enough to watch Jack's reaction to the simple, yet comfortable layout, and then went around back. The nights would be brisk, so after he opened the water line from the well and turned on the electricity, he picked up an armload of firewood from the stack behind car shed and carried it inside. 

Jack was upstairs in the bedroom when he'd finished. The dresser was open and he was inspecting the contents. "You thought of everything." 

"I figured one of these days we might need a bolt hole. I saw this place when we were up here on a case months ago, and it stuck in my mind," Ianto explained. "Later, when it became available, I bought it." 

"This is yours?" Jack replaced the jumpers and jeans he'd taken out and shut the drawer. "I'm impressed." 

Ianto kicked off his shoes and nudged them underneath the bed. "Still angry with me?" 

Jack walked to the window, taking in the view of the quiet meadow beyond. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" 

Ianto, still in the process of shedding his city persona shrugged, even though Jack couldn't see him. "You normally shake these moods off yourself." He pulled on a thin wool jumper and a pair of jeans, and then went to stand at Jack's side. They lapsed into silence and watched as a fox chased a rabbit across the grass.

***

Ianto puttered around the kitchen, drinking from a bottle of beer as he cooked lunch. They'd purchased fresh food at the little market in the village on their way in, simple things to augment the store of tinned and dry goods already in the cupboards and in the bins concealed under the floorboards. There, he kept a cache that would keep them fed for a month, two if they were frugal, and beyond that there were emergency rations – energy bars and dehydrated meals – that would hold them for much longer.

It was, as he'd explained to Jack earlier, a bolt hole. A place that they could retreat to if they needed a getaway such as this, or a place to hide if things got bad.

Maybe it was paranoia, but Martha's warning resonated with other information that had filtered through his sources, and whilst it wasn't time to panic, Ianto always believed in planning ahead. He'd been scouting locations for an alternate base as well, and had narrowed his candidates to three possibles. Knowing how attached Jack was to the Hub and its myriad of secret tunnels and defences, Ianto hoped he'd prove amiable to the idea of a backup base after their impromptu getaway. 

He glanced over his shoulder. Jack had fallen asleep on the sofa, half covered by a duvet. After the invasion of the stealthapedes, the crush of work hadn't relented. Jack insisted on being at the forefront, taking extra shifts so that his subordinates could have the occasional day off, and his sacrifice had eroded even Jack's amazing store of stamina.

It was dangerous to anthropomorphise, but for the past month it seemed as if the Rift had been angry with them. Although for what sin they had committed, Ianto couldn't say. Even with every available operative working around the clock, they had barely kept pace with the case load. It was a relief when Mark finally generated a Rift Event report that predicted a week-long lull. 

He finished preparing the simple lunch of spag bol made from dried noodles and bottled sauce. He glanced over at Jack a second time and decided not to disturb him. His lunch would keep. Ianto ate his standing over the sink, and then put Jack's away in the fridge for later. He did the washing up and then brought in another load of firewood against a potential rain storm before settling in an oversized chair and indulging in a nap.

***

Jack wasn't in the cabin when Ianto woke, although there was evidence that he'd been in the kitchen. His lunch plate was washed and sitting in the dish drainer.

Ianto knew he couldn't have got too far. And even if he had gone off to brood somewhere, he'd be back before the rain, now falling like a soft mist, grew hard. He made some coffee, found an interesting novel amongst the stash he'd stored, and settled in to read. 

The rain grew heavier, pounding against the window glass in sheets. Ianto glanced at his watch and grew concerned. It had been an hour since he'd nested in the chair with his book. The plot was well written and fast paced, and he'd been quickly absorbed. Jack still wasn't back, and his greatcoat hung on a peg by the door, something that had escaped his attention when the weather had been mild. 

Ianto marked his place and set the book aside, then went upstairs for his own all weather jacket and shoes more substantial than the canvas trainers he'd put on when he'd changed out of his work clothes. 

Dressed, and with still no sign of Jack, Ianto pulled his hood up over his head. With torch in hand, he went searching.

***

Jack had a key to the Audi, but it was still in the open shed where Ianto had parked on their arrival. It was possible he'd walked down to the village – there was a small pub at its heart, and sometimes Jack liked to talk to strangers – but he'd been in an introspective mood on their arrival. Ianto walked on through the small meadow and into the copse of trees beyond.

The rain whipped his hood, threatening to blow it off his head. Ianto tightened the strings and tied them into a knot under his chin. He let the play of torchlight guide his way, and instinctively sought the highest ground as he knew Jack would. 

Long minutes later, his barely healed leg ached and Ianto regretted leaving his cane behind. He trudged onward through the trees. A bolt of lightening hit the ground close enough to bring everything into stark relief, and there, on a small tongue of land overlooking the little pond, stood a lone figure in the rain.

"Oh, Jack," Ianto said softly. 

He looked desolate. His head was bowed against the onslaught, and his clothes were plastered against his body. Every so often his shoulders shook as if he were weeping. 

Ianto broke into a trot. His ankle burned with effort. And though his calf had been pronounced healed – he would always bear two small dimples marking the spots where a 9mm round had pierced the skin and come out again – the muscles were still weak. They protested as Ianto began to run. 

"Jack!" Ianto barked the other man's name as he closed. More thunder crashed, and somewhere a tree fell with a mighty crack.

A stitch caught at his ribs. It'd been months since he'd run and now he was paying. Ianto was forced to slow and catch his breath. He took the extra time and considered his tactics. As worried, and even angry, as he was, it would be better to approach Jack calmly. Shivering with cold, Ianto picked up a stout oak branch to use as an impromptu walking stick, and strolled the rest of the way. 

"Ianto. What are you doing here?" Jack seemed surprised to see him. He glanced around as if just noticing the downpour, and blinked water out of his eyes as he pushed the mat of fringe away from his forehead. 

Ianto shrugged back. "I thought you might want to come inside. Maybe have a bath and a brandy? I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a bit damp out here tonight." He had to shout over the howl of the wind.

"Yeah." Jack pulled at his shirt, unsticking it momentarily from his body before letting it cling again. "I guess I lost track. I was thinking." He seemed to come back from where ever he had been and noticed the tremors that rode over Ianto's frame in waves. "God, you're freezing!" He held out a sodden arm and wrapped it around Ianto's shoulders, offering what little warmth he possessed. "Come on, let's get you back indoors." 

The storm passed as they walked back to the cabin, leaving clear, cold air and a sense of calm behind it. They didn't speak. Jack seemed content just to be in Ianto's company, and Ianto had no idea what to say as they broke the cover of the trees and made the long slog back across the meadow, now a boggy nightmare that sucked at their shoes and threatened to pull them off their feet.

The exterior lights came on as soon as they were within the cabin's protected perimeter. The glow of the halogen lamps seemed stark considering the distance they'd travelled with only Ianto's torch for a guide. They shed the clothes that stuck to their bodies like second skins almost as soon as they were safely inside again. Naked and trembling, they climbed the stairs and headed straight for the bathroom. 

The oversized tub, with its multitude of spa jets, had been a selling point. Ianto filled it instead of starting the shower. In the little cabinet underneath the sink, he'd stowed a supply of bath beads and other frivolities. Maybe the bubbles would be too much and would best be saved for later, but a soothing blend of essential oils might help them both unwind. He added a cap full and watched the surface of the water glisten as the oil spread, and the scent of rosemary and lavender perfumed the air. 

At his invitation, Jack stepped into the tub and sank into its depths. He tilted his head back against the rim and sighed. "That's nice." 

Ianto took his place. The tub was round, and curved surfaces were built into its sides to conform to the shape of their bodies. He gave them a few moments to adjust to the warmth and then triggered the control for the jets. 

After the long walk through the cold and the driving rain, the gentle pulsating massage was bliss. Jack seemed to agree. He melted against the side of the tub, and for the first time in days, really seemed to let go, making small satisfied noises as his muscles loosened.

"Better?" Ianto inquired. 

"Much." Jack lifted his head and sat a little more upright. He leaned forward and shut off the jets, and slowly the ripples on the water calmed. "I'm scared, Ianto." His voice was so soft, Ianto had to struggle to hear. "This Torchwood that we're building. It frightens me." 

Of all the things he had considered Jack might confide in him over the course of his enforced holiday, that had never been anywhere on the list. Ianto regarded his companion with quiet intent. "Why?" 

Jack looked down at the water, avoiding Ianto's gaze. "I'm a good soldier, Ianto. Sure, I've commanded groups of men in the past, but there was always someone else higher up the chain looking over my shoulder and making sure I didn't screw up, at least not too badly." He lapsed back into silence for several long moments and then asked, "Did you ever wonder why there was only four of us when you came to work for me?" 

Ianto shrugged. "I thought it was politics. London _was_ Torchwood as far as the governors and everybody else was concerned. Torchwood Three was an outpost, just like Two and Four had been, reduced because all the research and development had been centralised."

"That's only partly the reason." Jack huffed a breath, his face lined in concentration as he tried to find the words to explain. "After Alex died, I tried to rebuild, Ianto. I did. I hired people. Not the ones you knew. There were others. But the work was just as dangerous then as it is now. I couldn't keep them safe. They trusted me to protect them and instead I got them killed. And then I soldiered on."

Jack's face changed again, becoming even more sombre. "But after I hired Suzie, I decided that I wasn't going to risk any more lives than I had to. I took on the minimum number of people we needed to patrol the Rift, and when One made their power grab, I let them. And from that point forward, we were alone." 

Ianto wanted to speak. He wanted to say something that would be consoling, but how did one respond to such a confession? He said nothing, but reached out and took Jack's hand, silently encouraging him to continue. 

Jack looked down at their twined fingers and then he met Ianto's eyes. "It was you who talked me into rebuilding properly and doing the job I'd promised Alex and the Doctor that I'd do. But now that we're here, Ianto, I'm not sure I can."

He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness that his brave captain felt himself a coward. He wanted to deny utterly the notion that his manipulation had pushed Jack to the edge of this abyss, this crisis of faith. But Ianto knew he couldn't do either. Even before Tosh and Owen had died, Ianto had been urging Jack to grow Torchwood. They had an obligation to the people they had failed because it just wasn't humanly possible for five people to take on the kind of responsibility they had.

They had all lost their way for a while, struggling when it was just him and Jack and Gwen left standing. But once Jack had grabbed hold of their bootstraps and pulled Torchwood back onto its feet, it seemed like there was no going back. Ianto had no idea Jack was harbouring such fears. 

"Jack." Ianto put as much faith and confidence as he could into his voice. "You are exactly the person we need to lead us. No one on this planet has more experience with the things we face, or has the qualities we need to build Torchwood. _No one._ Not even UNIT with all the resources at their disposal."

"How can you know that?"

Jack's tone was so bitter, Ianto was temporarily taken aback, but he pressed on. "Because I know you, Jack Harkness. And I know what you're capable of. I wouldn't trust you with my life otherwise." He shrugged, pushing away his guilt over Jack's pain to deal with later as he stated what for him was simple truth. He trusted Jack utterly, even if someday it might get him killed, because what they did was right and necessary.

Jack's head dropped. His shoulders shook, and when he looked up again there were tears streaking his cheeks, but he seemed angry rather than broken, his voice low and threatening as he said, "Don't. Don't you _dare_ put me on a pedestal, Ianto Jones!" 

Ianto leaned back against the tub. He raised his hand and regarded the wrinkles that pruned his fingers. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Jack with cold frankness. "And don't _you_ ever confuse _me_ with Gwen Cooper."

"I never did hold much with hero worship, Jack. I know exactly who you are. I know how cold, and hard, and utterly callous you can be. I also know, you are the most compassionate and well intentioned of men. You won't get caught up in the power like Yvonne did. And when it's time to make the hard choices you won't blink, and you won't back down, because in all the time I've known you, you never have."

"You sound so certain." 

The water was cooling. Ianto rose and clambered out of the tub. He offered Jack a towel. "That's because I am." 

He buffed his skin briskly, letting the towel absorb his guilt along with the scented water. The pocket of self doubt that festered inside of Jack had been lanced and its poison had been purged. Now the healing could begin.

Ianto wouldn't push. He wouldn't hector or give Jack pep talks, because he needed none of those things. In one respect, Jack was no different from any other man. From time to time, he just needed room to breathe. From now on, Ianto would make sure he got it. He hadn't realised, when he'd manipulated Jack into rebuilding Torchwood, how stifling the pressure of command would be. But now that he did know, he would use all of his considerable skills to create a buffer between Jack and everyone else. And if he were extremely careful, no one would be the wiser.

End


	2. So, Tinned Ham For Breakfast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"My Cernunnos," Ianto said, his voice husky with want. He plucked a twig from Jack's hair and then sank to his knees, pinning Jack against the tree and capturing his mouth._
> 
> A/N: This chapter contains explicit sex.

***

Jack lifted Ianto's arm off of his chest and eased out of bed. He was careful to move slowly, so the mattress wouldn't dip under his weight and the bedsprings wouldn't creak. Once on his feet, he looked down on his sleeping bedmate to see if he'd noticed. Jack needn't have worried. Once Ianto had declared them off duty, whatever mental alarm he normally set to wake himself up at the crack of dawn had been switched off as well. He slumbered heavily, giving himself permission, at least for a little while, to relax. 

Jack turned away from the bed, gathered his clothes, and slipped into the bathroom to splash his face and dress. Mission accomplished, he crept downstairs to begin the day. 

The fire had died to just a few live embers, and the air in the cabin was cool, though not unbearably so. Jack opened the damper, stirred the coals until they were bright orange and glowing, added kindling, and finally piled on a teepee of more substantial logs. The fresh wood caught, snapping and crackling as the flames burned brighter. He put the decorative iron screen back into place to guard the hearthrug against errant sparks, and went into the kitchen to start the coffee. 

It was becoming his ritual, as much as one could create a ritual after four days. Jack rose early, long before Ianto did. He did the simple housekeeping chores necessary for keeping the cabin homey and comfortable – the fire tending, the coffee making, putting away the dishes from the night before.

When the coffee was made and poured into a pair of flasks, and the fire properly damped down again, he scrawled a note so that Ianto wouldn't worry (Gone fishing. J. ) and propped it against the twin of the flask he stowed among his tackle to carry with him down to the pond. 

He enjoyed his pre-dawn walks. There was a stillness to the air that felt like balm to his overstretched nerves, and only nature sounds – the cooing of doves or the occasional cry of a fox – to break the silence. He hadn't realised how brittle he'd come to feel over the past months. Like glass ready to shatter. The calm of the pastoral surroundings seemed to restore him and made him feel human again. He was no longer a figurehead carved of duty and responsibility for others to look up to. Here, he was only a man beholden to no one but himself. 

Perhaps that was why Ianto had brought him to this spot instead of one of the five star hotels; the refuges of urban dwellers who sought to get away from the hustle and bustle of their busy lives. There, they would be pampered, but still connected by their twin umbilicals of phone and Internet. Here they had neither.

(Although to be honest, Jack suspected that might not be true. No bolt hole would be truly useful without tools for communication. But he was willing to go along with Ianto's fiction, at least for the duration of their holiday.)

In this isolated corner of the Welsh countryside they were bound by neither rota or agenda. They rose when their bodies had enough sleep. They ate when they were hungry, preparing simple meals from the amply supplied stores, or walking into the village to enjoy the rustic atmosphere of the pub. They talked when they needed to, or they shared easy silences. And when the mood took them, they made love. Sometimes slowly – teasing with feather-light caresses and butterfly kisses – and other times so passionately just recalling the encounters made Jack's mouth go dry and his groin tighten.

Jack paused, just inside the cover of the woods, and palmed his cock into a more comfortable position. He hadn't bothered with briefs when he'd dressed, and the new denim against his sensitized skin was a small torment. He traced a path his feet had come to know well, threading between the oaks and the alders, touching himself every few steps.

He'd meant to surprise Ianto with fresh fish for breakfast. The pond was liberally stocked with bream and roach and other pan fish. Pitting his rod against the wily catfish that was reputed to dwell at the bottom of the fishing hole was becoming an obsession, and he'd spent hours on the water's edge, sometimes with Ianto at his side, and sometimes by himself.

But memories of the night before burned hot. He dropped his fishing rod and rucksack and lowered first the zip of his jeans, and then himself to the ground, sighing with relief as his hand closed properly over his erection.   
Eyes closed, and his back firmly cradled against an oak tree, Jack held himself for a few seconds, letting the contact of skin on skin, and his memory do the work.

There had been so many really hot moments over the last few days and nights he had trouble choosing just one. A kaleidoscope of images: Ianto slamming him against a rough-hewn cabin wall, pinning him with his body before plundering his mouth. Jack returning the favour, dropping to his knees and licking wet stripes from the root to the tip of Ianto's erection. The skin under his tongue soft as velvet over a cock that was hard as iron. Ianto pushing Jack's knees against his chest before thrusting deep into his hole, his hips undulating until Jack was undone and begging for release. Ianto, braced against the dresser, his legs and his arsecheeks spread, waiting for Jack to have his way.

Underneath his fingers, his foreskin receded and the crown of his cock dripped, and Jack had the feeling he might just come from the pressure of his palm. He was so lost he didn't hear the slight rustle of leaves, or the quiet crack of a twig on the path he'd worn through the wood. He didn't hear the soft groan of masculine lust, or the sound of a belt being unbuckled. But he caught the scent, one known to him and him alone. Ianto, desire inflamed, his 21st century pheromones calling to Jack.

"My Cernunnos," Ianto said, his voice husky with want. He plucked a twig from Jack's hair and then sank to his knees, pinning Jack against the tree, capturing his mouth and cupping the back of his head to render him helpless.

The fishing trip was forgotten as they tumbled to the forest floor. The carpet of leaves, fragrant with the scent of earth and moss, became their bed as they tugged away jumpers and jeans, exposing bare flesh that prickled from the cool air and anticipation. 

Ianto was on top. He wrapped his hand around both their erections and his palm sent electric fire through Jack as they kissed. He arched into Ianto's nimble fingers, enjoying the sensations created by their cocks bumping and sliding against one another, but he wanted more.

He bucked upward, sending Ianto onto his back, and then used the momentary distraction to pounce, rolling them onto their sides and holding Ianto captive as he buried his nose against his pubic thatch. Jack breathed deeply of his scent. Ianto hadn't showered, and Jack caught a whiff of his own spent come. He lapped at the spot, tasting their co-mingled release. 

Where he was languorous, Ianto was aggressive, kneading Jack's ball sack with agile fingers one moment, and then spreading his thighs wider and worrying the tender skin with his teeth the next. He engulfed Jack's cock like he was gagging for it, sucking straight down to the root and back to the crown with long fluid motions. He used his tongue, tracing tight swirls and long lines. He used delicate nips of his teeth to heighten sensitized nerve endings that were already burning. Jack knew under such an assault he wouldn't last very long. He could already feel his balls tightening as he canted his hips. 

Ianto's fingers were at his hole, teasing it open. Jack groaned as what felt like half of Ianto's hand found his prostate and he was massaged from both without and within. 

He was trapped and could offer no resistance. He let Ianto's cock fall from his lips, and with his cheek against Ianto's thigh, cried out as his orgasm took him. Ianto offered no respite. He took Jack's legs, hooked them over his shoulders, and pushed in with a thrust that made them both gasp. Jack arched up, encouraging Ianto to bury himself balls deep. 

Ianto was gorgeous. Leaves and bits of chaff clung to his sweat-damp hair and skin. His jaw was slack and his eyes were screwed shut. His throat was vulnerable and exposed as he tipped his head back. He was utterly wanton. Jack grabbed his hips – those powerful, thrusting, hips – tightly enough he knew there would be marks. Not the first time he'd marked Ianto's body, or Ianto his, over the last few days. Not that either of them minded. 

Ianto opened his eyes and met Jack's gaze. Sweat was running down his cheek and Jack wanted nothing more than to reach up and taste it. He shifted his legs, begging silently, and Ianto understood. He collapsed forward, intending to begin his thrusts from the new angle. Jack held him in place. They kissed, scraping lips over unshaven jaws and tongues against teeth between panting breaths, and then Jack began to rock, very deliberately, rolling his hips from side to side and up and down. 

Ianto moaned. The sound was low and animal, and it went straight to Jack's cock, hardening it to aching stiffness once more. The sweat of their bodies and beads of pre-come were all the lubrication he needed as he rubbed against Ianto's belly. Ianto moaned again, much louder and longer this time. He thrust down, pulled up, and thrust down again before he collapsed into Jack's arms. 

Jack was teetering, back on the edge again. "Please, Ianto!" He didn't care how needy he sounded. He just wanted the grasp of Ianto's palm for a few precious seconds. 

It was there. As was Ianto's mouth sucking hard at Jack's collarbone. He forgot to breathe as a second orgasm left him reeling.

They lay there on their bed of leaves, spent and boneless. Ianto's mouth was moving, ghosting over Jack's skin, but he uttered no sound other than the occasional harsh gust of breath.

The sun had climbed higher, and beams pierced the leafy cover, sending motes of dust dancing. Jack took it all in, capturing the moment, one more memory for his scrapbook. 

Ianto pushed up slightly, brought his arms to rest over Jack's heart, and then settled his chin in the nest of his fingers. He regarded Jack with a rather winsome expression and said, "So tinned ham and toast for breakfast?" 

Jack chuckled and stroked the plane of Ianto's back. Tinned ham, toast, scrambled eggs, he'd even make Ianto a stack of American-style flapjacks. A mountain of them.

Later.

end


	3. Don't Let It Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto gives Jack a gift. Later, when they discuss plans for Torchwood's future, Jack reminds Ianto about where his real priorities should be. Ianto figures out a way to keep both their minds on the message.

***

"I'm going to miss this." Jack swept his hand across his body and outward, encompassing the view of the sky and mountains that surrounded them.

As they ambled homeward, the sun slid behind the mountains beginning the slow fade to dusk. The air was still brisk and clean despite the occasional curl of wood smoke from otherwise unseen houses. Jack took a deep breath, as if savouring the purity of his surroundings, held it, and exhaled slowly.

It had been another lazy day. After a late start, they'd taken up residence at what had become their usual spot in the pub and chatted with some of the more garrulous old-timers. Jack had cheered as Ianto beat the local ace at darts, after which there had been a lively, beer-fuelled debate between the publican and the post mistress about the virtue of lamb versus mutton for stew.

For Ianto, mutton was a reminder of days when money was scarce and meat was a luxury. If he had to eat sheep at all, he favoured lamb for its more delicate flavour. Discreetly, he rooted for Mrs Hopkirk as she pressed her advantage.

Jack championed Mr Camber's view that mutton was the superior choice. The publican was a firm believer that the more robust flavour of older animals was necessary, especially if long cooking times were involved.

Needless to say, and to prove his point, large cubes of mutton nestled among the onions and potatoes in the bowls that were dropped in front of them along with thick cut bread and farmstead cheese. Jack ate with relish, whilst Ianto forced his portion down with a fixed smile.

When the old gentleman went back to the kitchen to get them another serving, Jack confided that the taste of mutton reminded him of a sort of a bird they'd eaten a lot of when he'd been garrisoned on a far off planet. The duty had been easy, and recreation abundant. There had been nothing but good memories on that tour. 

After a final pint, and an amble through the shops – more for something to do than because of any need – they took to the road. Pleasantly full and mellow from the leisurely day, up until Jack's declaration, they shared an easy silence as they wound their way back to the cabin. 

They were at the halfway point on their walk. A signpost marked the curving track that ascended the mountain. There was a bus shelter tucked under an outcropping of rock for those passengers who cared to wait for the irregularly scheduled transport. Ianto paused and leaned against his walking stick. It was a fine specimen, carved out of a stout ash branch by a local craftsman. Jack had purchased it two days prior as a surprise memento of their holiday when he'd noticed Ianto's renewed limp.

Ianto studied Jack's face and noticed how the stress lines around his eyes had eased, and a sense of lightness seemed to have returned to his overall demeanour. Considering the state he had been in on their arrival, it was an amazing transformation. 

"The cabin's not going anywhere." Ianto fished in his pocket. He pressed the key he extracted between Jack's fingers before curling them over to keep it from falling.

"What's this?" Jack opened his hand and looked at the latchkey in non-comprehension. 

Ianto gestured towards the shelter. Though he'd been diligent about exercise and wearing his brace, he still found the uneven surface of the tarmac tiring. Worse, he'd overbalanced dodging Jack's effusive gesture, and his ankle was still recovering from the twinge. Grateful for the rest, he sat down. He looked up at Jack and then down at the bench, waiting until Jack sprawled next to him before he explained.

"It's yours to use … for whenever you need it." Jack's eyes widened in surprise. "I'll be happy to join you, of course," Ianto hastened to add. "But if you ever want to catch your breath – "

Jack turned away and raised his hand in front of his face. Even so, Ianto could see a melange of emotions wash over his expressive features. "Jack?" 

When Jack looked back again, his eyes were bright. He blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to fight the tears that were threatening to fall. A car wended its way up the narrow road. Its poor timing made no difference to Jack. He leaned forward, pulled Ianto into his arms, and poured all the words he couldn't find into a heartfelt kiss. 

Ianto was a bit breathless when they finally parted. "You're welcome." He offered his hand. "Shall we?" 

They shared a silence of a different, more affectionate, nature as they walked the last mile to the cabin. They touched often. Jack dropped an arm over Ianto's shoulders and pointed out an owl's nest. Ianto tucked his hand in Jack's back pocket with casual ease. Under the cover of a leaning oak, they stopped again to kiss. 

On their return, Ianto fended off another one of Jack's advances and pressed an axe into his hands. "Go split the kindling. I'll start the laundry." 

He watched appreciatively for a few moments as Jack shed his jacket and outer shirt and then took a few practice swings with the axe to limber up. The physical life suited him. He seemed to glow with health as he steadied a log on the chopping block and posed to strike.

With a final backwards glance, Ianto let himself inside, hung his jacket on a peg, and propped his stick in the corner by the door. He decided that would be its permanent home. The stout pole was well suited for country rambles, but would look woefully out of place in the urban environment of Cardiff.

He went upstairs and bundled most of the laundry into the basket. The sheets on the bed could wait until the morning whilst they were eating breakfast and doing the various other shut down tasks. The jeans and work shirts they wore home would be replaced in the cabin's inventory the next time they came up, along with the other supplies they'd used.

Jack entered just as Ianto finished sweeping the stairs. He looked pleasantly flush with exertion, and the come hither smile he offered was hard to refuse. But now that Ianto had given Jack a key, a tour of the cabin's other features seemed to be in order. 

"There's a few things you should probably be aware of," Ianto said before Jack could pounce. "Some small, hidden refinements I've made." 

Jack shot him a speculative look, but for the moment, he was willing to play along. He hung up his coat, washed his hands at the sink, and had a drink of water. 

"We'll start the tour over here," Ianto said. He opened the cupboard under the stairs. To the casual observer, it seemed nothing more than a place to store cleaning supplies, fishing tackle, and the other odds and bits one needed for a mountain retreat. He moved a mop and bucket out of the way and unslung Jack's fishing net off its hook. "Push to the left." 

The wall slid back to reveal an additional space. Ianto gave Jack a beckoning smile and stepped into the secret chamber. "These things are strictly for emergencies. But should you ever need them – " 

He flipped a switch on the wall. The room illuminated. Other than a wooden desk chair, it was empty. Ianto pressed his palm against the left side of the doorway and there was a subtle humming noise as a panel opened. Inside was a small armoury – shotguns, rifles, a pair of 9 mm pistols and a pair of snub-nosed 38 revolvers, along with the necessary rounds, holsters, and cleaning supplies. The guns were neatly suspended from brackets, and the rest was arranged on a series of shelves. When Ianto activated the mechanism for the panel on the opposite wall a communications centre – computer, land-line telephone, radios, and mobile phones in chargers – came into view. 

"I knew it!" Jack grinned. 

"You knew?" Ianto raised an eyebrow. 

Jack back-pedalled slightly. "Okay, I suspected. You're too well organised, Ianto Jones, to have a half-prepared safe house." 

"I said this was a retreat," Ianto replied, somewhat stiffly.

"You called it a bolt hole," Jack reminded him. He shrugged. Semantics were unimportant. "Ta-may-toe. To-mah-toe. Whatever name you want to use." He regarded the laptop. "Can that be tied to the mainframe at the Hub?"

Ianto nodded. "We have Internet access, although it took a bit of doing. I'm afraid I had to borrow some alien tech out of the archive to boost the signal."

"You're forgiven," Jack said as he pulled one of the deadly little 38s off the wall and began to inspect it more closely. "So what about defences?"

He put the revolver back into its cradle when Ianto tipped his head, indicating there was more to the tour. They went into the central living area and Ianto turned on the television. "I haven't done much." He moved a stack of books off the shelf and retrieved a remote control. "Just a few motion sensors and cameras." He used the remote to pan around the cameras he'd concealed at various access points to the property. "I'd like to put up a force grid, just to be on the safe side." 

Jack leaned against the back of the sofa. His gaze travelled from point to point as if he were assessing the cabin in a new light. "Why? Why'd you do all of this, Ianto?" 

Ianto shrugged. He opened the fridge and took out a beer, offered it to Jack, and when he declined, opened it anyway and took a sip. "I guess I've been a part of Torchwood for too long. I felt naked and exposed without the tools of our trade. So I brought a few things up, and then a few more, and the next thing I knew – " He shrugged again and drank more beer. Maybe he _was_ getting paranoid after all. "But it's a good idea, yeah? Having a safe place?" 

Jack nodded, offering grudging approval. There was something in his eyes, as if he were following Ianto's train of thought. "You're not just talking about this now, are you."

"What do you mean?" If Ianto sounded guarded, it was because he hadn't anticipated Jack initiating the conversation they were about to have. 

Jack pushed off the sofa. He paced with his arms crossed over his chest. Despite his blue jeans and casual flannel shirt, he looked like the Captain again. The mood shifted. Ianto set down his half drunk beer and reached for the notepad and pen he kept pinned with a magnet to the fridge.

"We need a backup Hub. Some place close enough and secure enough we can work from if the worst ever happens. London had us. But if something happens, who do we have?" Jack looked at Ianto with steely eyes. "The planet depends on us, Ianto. We can't come up short if there's a global emergency." 

Ianto stared. It seemed an appropriate response under the circumstances, and in any event, it was his honest reaction. He had thought he would have to work much harder to bring Jack around to a conclusion he had reached long ago. The question was: how to play it? "A backup Hub. Not a field office?" 

Jack shook his head. "We'll need those again. Some day. Probably soon. But I'd like to keep the operation centralised until we're a cohesive unit. No. I want a secure area. I want a mirror server. Containment units. The lot." 

Ianto scratched notes identical to the ones he'd scrawled out months before. "A warehouse. Or a private airfield. Possibly a disused factory of some kind." He had all three on his short list of potential locations. "Not necessarily in Cardiff, but close enough that if we had to bug out everyone could reassemble easily."

"Exactly." Jack nodded. "Get on it as soon as we get back. I want a list of properties on my desk by the end of next week."

Ianto smiled. Their holiday was about to end. The long lazy days of solitude and renewal were coming to a close and he was about to be thrust back into the chaos and uncertainty of his workaday world, and yet he felt happy.

Jack was excited. His eyes were bright with anticipation and purpose. A fire burned hot in his belly as he planned for Torchwood's future. He was every inch the warrior who would lead them into battle, and there was no place Ianto wanted to be but at his side. 

"Of course, sir." Ianto handed Jack the pad and pen. "I'll just put on some coffee, and then while you're working, I'll finish getting us ready to go back to town." 

Ianto's deferential reply triggered a sharp glare from Jack. He seemed to recognise how profoundly he'd shifted mental gears, and how Ianto had promptly followed his lead. He set down the pen and shook his head. "Uh uh." 

In the space of a heartbeat his expression shifted from excited to sombre. He drew in a breath and then let it out again. When he spoke again, he sounded bewildered. "You know, Ianto, I'm always telling other people not to let it drift. And yet, here's me."

He rose to his feet and took Ianto's hand. "Here's us. About to do just that." He looked down at their twined fingers and back into Ianto's eyes. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ianto, but we have one more night here, and I think I'd like to spend it not talking about secret bases, or staff assignments, or work in general. Okay?"

Ianto almost protested, but caught himself just in time. He'd been so glad to see Jack in Captain mode, he'd reverted to his role of batsman without thinking. He nodded instead, then disentangled his hand and reached for his beer. A major change of subject seemed in order even if a part of his thoughts continued to dwell on improvements to the cabin and the best choice for a reserve Hub. "Film?" 

Jack narrowed his eyes, and for not the first time, Ianto wondered if he wasn't more psychic than he claimed. "You've got a copy of your Bond collection stashed away, haven't you."

Ianto shrugged. It would hardly be a safe house if it didn't have the things in it that made him feel secure. "Maybe." 

Jack scowled. "Uh uh. Pick something else, Mr Jones. I don't want you getting a lot of fancy ideas. You can use alien tech to make the upgrades to the perimeter security, but otherwise, I like things just the way they are." 

"So, I should cancel the shark tank," Ianto dead-panned.

"Ianto!" Jack mock growled his name. 

"Just a suggestion," he said lightly, but his mood had turned as serious as Jack's. _Don't let it drift_. It seemed Jack wasn't the only one that needed a constant reminder. "Forget the film, I've got a better idea."

It couldn't be just anywhere. Certainly not somewhere easily visible to others. After all, he did have an image to uphold.

Jack looked at him suspiciously. "Yeah? What's that?" 

Ianto picked up the pen. It was a thick point Biro, not really suited for the job he had in mind. But Jack was a good artist, and Ianto had a fine imagination. Together they would work out something that would serve as a permanent admonishment. Once they'd figured out the design, he would let Jack choose the location. He knew a studio in Cardiff that employed a technician whose skill with a tattoo needle was renowned.

"Art project. Come upstairs and I'll explain."

End


	4. The Marks We Make ... (and those that are made on us)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is always telling other people not to let things drift. After their impromptu holiday, Ianto decides they need a tangible reminder for the next time things get tough.
> 
> Art and Technical Advisor: count_to_seven. Thank you!   
> This chapter contains explicit sex. It also contains a graphic depiction of the tattooing process.

***

The first touch of the needle against his skin was like a hot scratch.

Ianto exhaled slowly as the needle bit again. He settled a little more firmly against the massage chair and tried not to think, but factoids kept floating through his brain. The needle that was piercing his skin and depositing the ink was drilling 1/16 of an inch down. The ink was composed of metal salts, though the exact composition had been difficult to determine. There would be several different types of needles used depending on which part of the design was being worked on. 

He drew in another breath, and another, defocusing his mind and letting the stinging pain wash over him. He was the beach and the pain the tide. If he let it, each cresting wave would carry him away, bit by bit, needle jab by needle jab, until there was nothing of him left. 

Endorphins began to kick in, just as his research had indicated, and the sting turned into a warming glow. Drifting on the haze of a biochemical high, his thoughts floated to the night he had proposed the tattoo to Jack.

***

"A tattoo, Ianto?" Jack regarded him for a long moment and then said, "Sorry, I just never saw you as a tattoo kind of guy."

His response seemed to fly in the face of Jack's renowned lack of will to stereotype. But on the last night of their holiday, in the bedroom of the cabin he owned and they had shared over the past week, Ianto felt more than comfortable challenging Jack's assumptions. "Is there such a thing?" 

Jack shrugged as if to say, 'you know what I mean.' And Ianto did. As far as the world was concerned, he was the buttoned down type. Suits and decorum were his defining characteristics, not piercings or ink. He had no desire to change people's perceptions of him, that was one of the reasons why he wanted the tattoo to be concealed. But it was also because he wanted it to be a private communication, meant for only them.

Jack seemed to chew the idea over for a few moments. "What sort of tattoo?" he finally asked. 

"A reminder," Ianto explained. "For the next time we get caught up and forget what's important." 

"Don't let it drift?" Jack said. It was his favourite admonishment, yet one he rarely applied to his own life. Just as he had earlier, Jack seemed chastised that he needed a reminder to follow his own advice.

Ianto felt strangely apprehensive. "Yeah. I thought maybe just the words." 

Jack's lips pressed together as if he was considering. "Kinda obvious, don't you think?" 

Ianto shrugged back at him. "That seemed the point." 

Jack took up the notepad and pen. He sketched for a minute, X'd out whatever he'd drawn, and turned the page to start fresh. "Too plain." The page flipped again. Jack's face became a study in concentration. Minutes ticked by. Ianto tried to get a peek, but Jack brushed him away. "Hang on." Then a minute later. "Take off your shirt. I need to see something." 

Ianto undid his work shirt and peeled it away to reveal his bare skin. He faced Jack and felt oddly self conscious. Also, a little confused. In his hasty inspiration, he hadn't really considered where the tattoo would be placed, other than it would be concealed. He assumed Jack would concur and chose somewhere intimate: his hip, or perhaps the skin of his inner thigh.

Jack dropped the pad onto the bed and rose. He ran his fingers along the length of Ianto's left arm, along the back of his neck, and then circled until he was standing in front. He continued his contemplative exploration by trailing his hand over Ianto's collarbone and chest, finally coming to rest again against the top of his right shoulder. "Here, I think." 

He went back to the bed and took up his pen again. Ianto stood in front of the mirror that overhung the dresser and regarded his reflection with a small, knowing, smile. It was one of their grounding points. When either of them was stressed or insecure Jack would clasp Ianto's shoulder giving or taking comfort as the situation demanded. What better place to put their private touchstone? 

"Okay." Jack patted the mattress, indicating Ianto should join him. "It's rough. And I'm not much of a calligrapher, but I think you can get the general idea." 

Ianto's breath caught as he studied the sketch. The meaning was easily interpreted from the symbols Jack had chosen; a stylised anchor and a nautical star, both used by sailors from time immemorial to represent home and stability even when they were far from either, encompassed by the anchor chain wrought in the shape of a heart. When he looked closer, he noticed the cross bar of the anchor was an I and the left hook was a J. 

"Tattoos are supposed to be personally significant. Can't get more personal than that," Jack explained. He seemed almost shy as he traced out the J and I with his fingertip. 

"It's beautiful," Ianto took the sketch out of Jack's hands and rose. Carefully, he folded the paper away until only a rough circle remained. "Come see how it will look." 

Together they stood in front of the little mirror and Jack placed the sketch where he wanted it. Ianto pivoted and looked over his shoulder. A bad joke about wearing his heart on his sleeve died unspoken. 

"I'm only sorry I can't get one to match." There was regret in Jack's voice. 

Jack's perfect, unmarked skin. "The ink would fade when you … " 

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I had a tattoo once when I was in the service." He rubbed unconsciously at a point over his right forearm. "It was a good thing I was transferred when I was, or I would have had a hell of a time explaining how those wings disappeared." 

"Wings?" Ianto visualised Jack back in his military days; in his uniform he would have looked even more like a film star. 

Jack shrugged, and smiled a smile that was part nostalgia and part self conscious embarrassment. "Yeah. I knew as soon as I sobered up that the next time I … " He shrugged again. "Peer pressure. No one's really immune."

***

"You doing okay there, lad?"

Ianto waited until the needle was lifted. He took a breath, let it out slowly, and then took another. "Yeah. Fine. It's not as bad as I'd heard."

Though he'd been encouraged to bring a personal music player, Ianto hadn't, relying on his own commitment to the project, and his well tested ability to withstand pain to see him through the session. Now that he was in the chair and the work was under way, he was proud of his choice. 

"You're doing fine," Magnus, proprietor of Piercing Ink and the chief artiste in residence, replied. "But if it gets to be too intense, sing out. No one will think the worse of you." 

Ianto liked him for that. He also liked him for the bright lights and almost clinical layout of the salon, and the thoughtful frame of mind he encouraged in all of his potential patrons.

Magnus gained respect points the day Ianto had first entered the shop and instead of being shown a book of possible designs, he was offered a cup of coffee and a chat. When Ianto unfolded the sketch Jack had drawn and handed it over, Magnus pointed out the entwined initials with a neatly groomed fingertip and looked at Ianto sternly from under his bushy eyebrows.

***

"Both yours?"

Ianto shook his head. "Just the one." 

Magnus looked at the sketch again and then back at Ianto. "A couple's design, but you're not both getting inked?" 

"Jack can't … for medical reasons," Ianto hastened to add. "I'm doing it for the both of us." 

"You been together long? I'm not asking to be social." Magnus had a prominent nose and an expressive mouth that was currently set in a flat line. He was easy to read and he seemed to be on the verge of concluding the appointment even though they'd just sat down. "I don't do ink for new couples."

Though a small part of Ianto's mind bristled automatically at the intrusive questioning – it was his body after all – he understood that Magnus had an artist's temperament. He was highly sought after, and bookings at his studio were difficult to obtain without a long wait. He wanted clients who were crystal clear about what they were undertaking and would wear the resultant artwork with pride.

Under those circumstances his questioning seemed a little more reasonable. Though there were never any guarantees when it came to relationships, getting tattooed in the first heady days of a new love could be the source of regret later. Breaking up was hard enough with adding a painful tattoo removal to the angst.

"We've been together for a couple of years now."

They were building a future together. Or at least as much of a future as they could have when one half of the couple was immortal and the other wasn't. A foreseeable future, at least. 

Magnus still seemed unsatisfied, and Ianto began to think perhaps he was going to find another place to get his tattoo done. One with a less discerning artiste. Northside Ink had been his second choice. Although their reputation was good and their work came highly recommended, they weren't nearly as renowned as Piercing Ink. If he pulled a few more strings he could probably get a reasonably timely booking. 

"Hit a rough patch recently?" Magnus pressed. "Because I have to tell you, people have the same mistaken idea about tattoos that they do about kids and pets; they won't bring you closer together." 

Had he thought something along those lines? Was he getting marked in hopes of bringing Jack closer to him? In a way, Ianto supposed he was, but not because of any sort of rift. If anything, it was because their recent holiday had demonstrated how important their bond was to Jack and he wanted to commemorate that.

They were going to face difficult times. Ianto felt it in his bones. They wouldn't be able to run away to the idyllic mountain cabin unless they were in fact running for their lives, in which case he doubted long country walks and lovemaking would be a large part of the experience. The tattoo would be a memory made tangible. Something they could both draw on when they needed to be strong.

"Nothing of the sort. We're colleagues at the same firm," Ianto explained patiently. "Sometimes our work can overshadow our personal lives." He hesitated and then added, "It can be particularly difficult for Jack. He holds a senior position, and the demands can be overwhelming." 

That answer seemed to finally satisfy Magnus. "Okay." He took the sketch and made a few notes, and then he asked Ianto to show him where he wanted the tattoo to be and made a few more. "Leave this with me. I'm going to make some refinements. Nothing major. Come back day after tomorrow and I'll show you my work. If you're still willing, we'll book a sitting." 

The receptionist scheduled an appointment for the consultation and a block of time for the actual inkwork a few weeks later before handing an information packet across the counter.

"If you have any questions or concerns, please call us and we'll do our best to put your mind at ease," she said as she ushered him out.

***

The hum of the machine faded to background noise and the low level resonance that had vibrated through his skull finally became insignificant. Ianto's training in pain management served him well. Whenever the ache in his shoulder grew too difficult to bear, he pinched his wrist sharply as a distraction and thought of more pleasant things; like what had happened after he had modelled the design.

***

Jack lips were gentle as they pressed against his shoulder. "Your skin is so beautiful. So perfect as it is. You're sure you want this, Ianto?"

He looked at Jack's face in the mirror and nodded. For the rest of his life, however long that was, he would bear the scars collected in the service of Torchwood. But this wasn't a defacement, like the marks left by his shooting. This was an affirmation; his gift to Jack, and to himself. 

Ianto pivoted in the circle of Jack's arms and met his eyes. "Yep." The kiss they shared was long and sweet. Ianto ran his hand over the soft flannel of Jack's shirt. He was going to miss him like this, absolutely carefree and without pretence. Here, in this private sanctuary, Jack didn't have to be brave or stalwart. He didn't have to play the hero for Ianto's benefit. He could be himself. 

Once they were back in Cardiff, Ianto had no doubt they would quickly fall back into their old ways. There would be small, affectionate moments stolen when they thought they could get away with them, and quick trysts when time permitted. But lazy weekends and easy mornings would become the stuff of fantasies as conference calls, morning briefings, and long nights keeping the Rift and its troubles at bay took precedence. 

Ianto's bare skin was too much of a temptation. Jack nipped and sucked his way down the curve of Ianto's neck to the hollow of his throat, gently biting and then soothing each spot as he went. Ianto knew there would be marks. And in time, those marks would fade. The ink, if he were careful, would be a permanent thing. 

Jack drifted further down, tugging at his chest hair and sucking his nipples until they pebbled. Ianto sighed and held Jack's head in place as his cock filled in response to the delicious teasing. He felt a sense of anticipation as Jack started to work his belt free. 

The dresser bit against his back as Ianto braced himself against it. Jack was on his knees. He wrapped his lips over Ianto's cock through the denim of his jeans and blew a long, slow exhalation. 

"Jack!" The jeans and his briefs underneath were utter torment. Ianto moved to undo the button and lower the zip, but Jack was firmly in control. He batted Ianto's hand away and then pushed it up against his chest. 

"Pinch yourself. I want to see." He looked up with his tongue poised against the vee of Ianto's legs, clearly intending to deny further contact until what he saw met his satisfaction. 

Ianto ran the flat of his hand along the line of hair that climbed upward from his groin. He stopped to suck his fingers, wetting them liberally by drawing them slowing into and out of his mouth before clamping down hard on his nipples. Just as his fingers closed, Jack opened his mouth wide and took in a mouthful of cloth-covered balls. 

"Tease!" Ianto grated out through clenched teeth. 

"Want me to suck you off?" 

Ianto looked down on Jack. His eyes were hooded underneath the veil of this long eyelashes, and his red, pouting lips were open just enough to show the glint of his teeth. 

"Want me to pound you into the mattress?" Ianto replied.

As it turned out, they managed to do both before dawn.

***

"Ianto, are you still with me, lad?"

Magnus' gravel rough voice called him out of the fantasy. The buzz of the tattooing machine had stopped.

"I need to make some adjustments."

Ianto moved his shoulder carefully as he straightened his back. Magnus guided him upright and pressed a cup into his hands.

"Here, get this down you. It'll just take me a few ticks."

Ianto drank slowly. The cup held a sort of honeyed herb and lemon concoction, and the sweet tart combination tingled the sides of his tongue and made his mouth water. "Thanks." He finished the drink and set the cup on the little table built into the chair's frame.

Whatever adjustment Magnus needed to make, he'd completed. He snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and raised an eyebrow at Ianto. "Ready?"

Ianto nodded and took a deep, meditative breath. He let it out slowly before settling back into the face rest. He took one more breath and said, "Whenever you are."

***

Jack had his head pillowed against Ianto's chest. It was early, way too early, to be up considering how late they'd gone to bed the night before, but neither one of them had slept easily. "You nervous?" Jack reached up and touched Ianto's cheekbone.

Ianto shook his head. "It's just a needle prick." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, a lot of needle pricks. But nothing I won't be able to handle. Why? Are you offering to come with me and hold my hand?" 

Jack shifted and rolled over to meet Ianto's gaze. In the semi-darkness of the bunker there was a shadow of regret in his eyes. He wanted to be a part of this ritual, but there was no way to reconcile the studio's schedule with that of the Rift. 

"I would. You know I would. But if the prediction is correct and there's a Rift event in Splott this afternoon, it'd be a good chance to watch Andy at work directing a team. I think with a little more training he's going to be a great recovery specialist."

"Told you that," Ianto said around a yawn.

They lapsed back into a drowsy silence. Jack held Ianto's hand between his own, tracing the outline of his fingers and the lines and calluses that marked his palm. 

"You're going to be sore back there tonight. Want me to kiss it better in advance?"

They had time. A whole two extra hours before the world crowded back into their lives. Granted, the literature from Piercing Ink had made a point about being well rested, but if they didn't get too creative, there would be time for a drowse after.

Ianto reversed the position of their hands and gave Jack's a squeeze. "What do you think?"

Jack rolled off and sat up. He patted the mattress. "Roll onto your stomach." 

With a lift of his eyebrow, Ianto did as he was instructed and waited as Jack got out of bed. He disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments. When he came back out again he had a towel in one hand and a bottle in the other.

"What are you doing?"

"Hush." Jack clambered up onto the camp bed and straddled Ianto's hips. He bent forward and traced the outline of a heart with his fingertip, then an anchor, and finally the star. Jack's mouth was soft, his touch delicate as he traced the path his finger had taken with his lips and tongue. 

Ianto sighed against the pillow. As much as he enjoyed Jack when he was playful and innovative, this quiet, contemplative Jack was the one that held his heart. Everything he did was deliberate, soothing, and designed to comfort. 

The oil was warmed to body temperature in Jack's palm before being drizzled slowly along Ianto's spine. Ianto let out his breath and then drew another. He could feel Jack's hands riding millimetres above his skin, not yet making contact, but it was if he were being touched all the same. 

"Just relax." 

Ianto sighed again as Jack began to draw long, soothing strokes down over the plane of his back and outward over his shoulders. The pressure deepened with each pass, carrying away any resistance Ianto's muscles offered and seducing them to a state of calm. He poured more oil, a long thin stream of it, then Jack brought his entire body into play, crouching close as he rubbed his chest against Ianto's shoulder blades, then his belly, and finally his cock. 

Though he was meant to stay still, Ianto's erection throbbed in time with each of Jack's strokes. It was impossible not to arch into the full body caress. Ianto leaned up, offering Jack his mouth. When they broke the kiss he said, "I think you better do the front, too." 

Jack chuckled, but he shifted his weight enough for Ianto to turn over. He held Ianto's gaze as he trickled more oil across his chest and over his hips. Jack's touch as he continued the massage tantalised. 

Ianto gasped as Jack's fingertips ghosted against his cock. He wanted to etch the tryst into his memory, indelible as the ink that would mark his shoulder. "Ride me, Jack." His words weren't meant an order, and they weren't supposed to be a plea, but his tone conveyed both, begging and ordering simultaneously. 

Jack yielded, sheathing Ianto's erection in heat. His eyes closed in concentration as his arse began to rise and fall in a slow grind. Ianto watched, recording each moment, knowing he would be able to replay it later if he needed to.

***

Someone was calling his name.

Ianto blinked, pulling himself back to the present. Magnus had finished with the needles. He dabbed at the new tattoo with something cool and soothing, and then covered it with a dressing. 

"You faded out on me at the end."

"Did I?" Ianto supposed he had, but thinking of his morning with Jack was infinitely more pleasurable than contemplating what was going on behind him. He felt very far away, and a bit overheated. 

"Yeah. It's probably a good thing you've got someone waiting to give you a ride home."

Ianto frowned. He'd taken a taxi to the appointment, and intended to have another take him home. "Do I?" He lifted his head out of the cradle. Conscious of his shoulder, he straightened and looked around to see Jack leaning against the doorway. 

"I take it you're the J?" Magnus regarded Jack for a moment before taking the extended hand.

"Jack Harkness. You've got an exceptional studio, Mr Lungren." Jack crossed the little room and helped Ianto to his feet. "I couldn't hold your hand, but I figured I could at least give you a lift." 

Overcome by a sudden head rush, Ianto sagged. Before he could lose his footing, Jack was there, holding him steady, offering his strength. "Easy there, tiger. I think I better get you home." 

It took a bit of time, but his head did clear. When his the room stopped spinning and his ears quit buzzing, Ianto noticed how much of his weight Jack supported.

Magnus returned holding a bottle of energy drink and a carrier bag containing the things Ianto would need to care for his new tattoo. "Follow the instructions on the sheet we gave you and come back in ten days. I like to see how they're healing. If you need a touch up, we'll schedule it."

Magnus regarded them both from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He nodded as if he'd satisfied some personal curiosity. "Your artwork was a good choice," he said before leaving Ianto to dress. 

It was an affirmation from a stranger, but Ianto felt an odd sense of validation as he slipped into his shirt and checked to make sure his cuff links were still tucked in his jacket pocket. Jack picked up one of the used needles and examined it closely. He ran his finger along the length and then winced as he pressed the end against his fingertip. 

"Are you all right, Jack?" 

Jack dropped the needle back onto the tray. "Yeah. I guess seeing that you actually went through with this is making me a little emotional. I was thinking about the way we choose to remember things. The marks we make and those that are made on us." He pushed his hand through his fringe and gave Ianto a sheepish smile. "You've really left a mark on me, Ianto Jones." 

Ianto held out his left arm and took Jack into a one armed embrace. He pressed a kiss against Jack's temple, and nudged him towards the door. His shoulder twinged under its bandage and he tried not to wince. 

"I know the feeling."

But he wasn't talking about his new tattoo.

End


End file.
